


You know what's wrong with me

by fulldaysdrive



Series: Limerence [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, dealing with A+ parenting, sisters being awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 04:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7252462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fulldaysdrive/pseuds/fulldaysdrive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire opens the door with a simple "Hey."  Musichetta finds the complete lack of joy in the greeting instantly concerning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You know what's wrong with me

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel to [And I know what to say, but forgot how to speak](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6138872) but it's not required to read that to understand it. All you really need to know is that in this AU, Grantaire and Musichetta are sisters.

"Hey, R?" Musichetta says into the speaker. "It's me!" She doesn't get a verbal reply, but hears the tell-tale click of the door unlocking, and she pulls it open to step inside the building. Throughout the elevator ride to the tenth floor, she glances worriedly at the text conversation open on her phone.

 

 **workofRt  
** you busy?

 **electric_chettle  
** yeah I'm at work?

 **workofRt  
** when do you get off?

 **electric_chettle  
** 20 mins. what's up?

 **workofRt  
** come over when you can

 **electric_chettle  
** why?

 

Glass in hand, Grantaire opens the door with a simple "Hey." Musichetta finds the complete lack of joy in the greeting instantly concerning. Her sister is generally a very cheerful drunk, at least until she hits a certain level of inebriation. It doesn't _look_  like Grantaire's reached _that_  point, but she's red-eyed, obviously upset.

The next thing Musichetta registers is how red Grantaire is in general. She had evidently meant to go clubbing, having dressed in a sparkly, voluminous scarlet top belted over a simple pair of black leggings, before whatever had happened to derail her evening. Her cheeks are flushed from whatever's in her glass. (It's clear, so... vodka. It's probably vodka.) Her eyes are swollen. Despite the fact that she's obviously been crying, both her lipstick and eyeliner have not budged a single millimeter, although she can tell Grantaire's used her fancy fiber mascara because there are bits of black surrounding her eyes, scattered from her lashes by the tears and rubbing.

"What's wrong—"

"Dad called." Musichetta's eyes widen. "Just completely out of the blue. After _years_. And get this — he wanted to _apologize_." Grantaire attempts a smile, wobbly and brief and completely unconvincing. "He said he wanted to let me know that he's proud that I have a degree. I could _hear_ him biting off the 'even though it's in a useless field' but I gotta give him credit for not actually saying it out loud."

"R—"

Grantaire continues like she hadn't even opened her mouth, and her cadence and tone go sing-song with mockery. "And he says he's proud that I've managed to get myself through school, and he regrets that things got so ugly that I was forced to do it alone. He says I should have had all the opportunities and support that he gave you, because I deserved them too, and he really wishes he'd realized that sooner." Her voice turns ragged and bitter. "And then he said he was sorry that he hadn't _had_  the money and resources when we were growing up so he could've been okay with me going into art, because he knows it's my passion and couldn't ever just be my hobby, and he's always just wanted the best for me so he apologized for that _too_  and you know what, it's just _typical_ that he made this big reaching out gesture all about himself in the end."

Her face crumples, and Musichetta finally manages to actually make herself move to her, and Grantaire just about collapses into her arms like a lanky bundle of anguish. It's awkward, and Musichetta is too short for this, so she moves them slowly from the doorway and over to the couch, and then sits Grantaire down, gently taking the still half-filled tumbler from her sister's shaking fingers and setting it on the coffee table. Then she sits next to Grantaire, who immediately resumes clinging tightly to her shoulders.

After a moment, Grantaire continues, her words muffled somewhat in Musichetta's scarf. "Like _fine_ , Dad, but I'm thousands and _fucking_  thousands of dollars in debt, I can't find steady work, I drink away what I do manage to make, and my girlfriend of three years just left me because she is justifiably sick of having to take care of me like she's my mother, and the only reason I'm not out on the street or whatever is because my rich friend lets let me live in her daddy's swank apartment because she _pities me so fucking much_."

"Oh, god, R..." Musichetta runs her fingers through her sister's hair, searching for something to say.

Grantaire heaves out a sob. "I hung up before I could tell him he was right all along."

Musichetta sighs. "Oh, R _no_." She lets her sister cry it all out, murmuring reassurances and holding her tightly. When the shuddering subsides and Grantaire's breathing slows, Musichetta gently releases her, and plucks a few tissues from the box on the coffee table. "That isn't true, you know. Dad's always been wrong about you."

Grantaire takes the tissues. "Musi, I'm a fucking wreck." She blows her nose. "I'm a failure."

"You are  _not_ ," Musichetta says firmly. "You have your degree, you even graduated with honors. You completed that internship—"

"Not like it did me any good," Grantaire mutters. "That place was a waste of three months."

"It'd look good on your resume, if you bothered to update it." Grantaire doesn't respond, and Musichetta takes a slow breath. "You'll find something, R. I know you will."

Grantaire makes a huff of disbelief. She sits up, then reaches out for her glass on the coffee table, only for Musichetta to gently grasp her wrist. When Grantaire turns her head sharply to look at her, Musichetta purses her lips.

"R... Just now was the first time you actually admitted to me that you have a problem," she says carefully.

After a tense few seconds, Grantaire lets her shoulders droop. She says nothing.

Musichetta hesitates in the moment that follows, and then tentatively says, "Before, you told me it didn't work out with Flo because you both wanted different things."

That's met with a bitter exhale that is too harsh to be a laugh. "Yeah. She wanted me to cut back on the drinking, and I wanted her to stay. But I wouldn't, so she didn't." Grantaire won't meet Musichetta's eyes. "We were together for ages, I thought she'd..." Grantaire bites her lip, looking down.

"You thought she'd stay anyway?"

Another bitter not-laugh. "Yeah, I took her for granted. I'm a complete idiot."

"You're not," Musichetta repeats, still firm.

"It's gotten worse since she left." Grantaire's gaze is firmly fixed on her own feet. "Joly and Bossuet took me home from the bar three nights in a row. Bossuet got a parking ticket because he left the car outside for five minutes while he dragged my ass up here. I don't even remember last weekend."

Musichetta swallows. She hadn't known this. "How can I help? What do you want?" she asks.

"I want another drink," Grantaire admits quietly. "That's the problem, isn't it."

"I can get you a glass of water," Musichetta offers after a pause. She gets up, picks up the tumbler, and heads to the kitchen to pour out the remaining vodka in the sink, rinse it thoroughly, and replace it with water from Cosette's filter pitcher. When she returns to the lounge, Grantaire accepts the water without comment.

"You know you're being unfair to Cosette?" Musichetta asks, sitting back down on the couch. "She doesn't _pity_  you. Last time I saw her, she told me you two get along well and you're tidy and great company and you always pay your share of the utilities on time. You're the best roommate she could hope for, and exactly what she needed."

"She doesn't need a roommate, though," Grantaire says, flushing a little. "She doesn't even need to pay rent."

Musichetta frowns. "She never wanted to live by herself. She needed company, you needed a place to stay, and as far as she's concerned it works out. She appreciates you, because you're her friend."

Grantaire doesn't quite look like she agrees, but instead of arguing, she simply nods.

"And she's your friend," Musichetta says with emphasis. "You know what friends are for, right? You don't have to face everything by yourself. You're not alone. You've got me, and Cosette, and Joly and Bossuet, and honestly probably the rest of that club you're all in. Speaking of Friends," she adds, with a hint of a smirk, and she knows from the slight snort that Grantaire could hear the capital letter. "It's your choice," she says.

They sit in silence for awhile, Musichetta watching Grantaire slowly sipping her water.

"My choice," Grantaire says after a minute.

"Of course." Musichetta clasps her sister's free hand. "What do you want, R?" she asks once more.

Grantaire looks up. Her eyes are wet again, but Musichetta thinks she sees relief in her expression, finally. "I want to quit," she admits, her voice trembling. "I need your help."

Musichetta smiles. "You've got it," she says.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Father's Day?
> 
> Many thanks to whychat as always. ♥ Also to [amaronith](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/amaronith) for the support!
> 
> (FYI Les Amis are "The Friends of the LGBT" in this AU.)


End file.
